Chương 9
Martin’s face tightened.
He lowered his voice. “Serena has spent her entire life trying not to lose control. You have no idea how much pressure she has been under.”
“I know she lost control today.”
“She made one mistake.”
“One mistake can be enough.”
“For what? To erase five years?”
“No. To make me look at them differently.”
Martin stepped back.
Serena approached before he could answer. “Dad, go sit with Mom.”
“He’s humiliating you.”
“No,” Serena said. “I did that.”
Martin stared at her, then at Daniel. He walked away without another word.
Serena stopped beside the piano.
The sheet music still rested on the stand. The white rose had been removed, probably by a staff member. For Mom remained visible.
“Is Anna coming down?” she asked.
“No.”
“Does she hate me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does Claire?”
“Claire is angry.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“You can ask her.”
Serena looked toward the guests. Several avoided her eyes. Others did not.
The video had spread. Daniel could tell by the way phones were held under tables and faces changed after looking at screens.
“I want to apologize to Anna again,” Serena said.
“Not today.”
“Did she say that?”
“I’m saying it.”
Her jaw tightened. “You told me not to treat her like a child, and now you’re deciding who can speak to her.”
Daniel almost answered defensively. Then he considered it.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’ll ask.”
Serena seemed unprepared for agreement.
He took out his own phone. Uncle Robert had found it in the groom’s room and returned it during the announcement. Daniel texted Anna.
Serena wants to apologize again. Do you want to see her?
The reply came less than a minute later.
Not today. Please tell her I heard the first one.
Daniel showed Serena.
She read the message.
“I heard the first one,” she repeated softly.
“She knows you said the words.”
“But she doesn’t believe them.”
“I don’t know what she believes.”
“You do. You all know what she thinks before she says anything.”
“That isn’t true.”
“It feels true.”
Daniel slipped the phone into his pocket.
“What happens now?” Serena asked.
“Tonight, we leave separately.”
“And tomorrow?”
“We talk.”
“About whether we’re still engaged?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes moved across his face. “Are you taking the ring?”
He looked at the gold band on her left hand. They had exchanged rings privately that morning because the ceremony ring was an heirloom that needed resizing. Serena had joked that it was their technical marriage without paperwork.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s on your hand.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m not asking for it today.”
She nodded.
For a second they stood beside the piano like two people waiting for instructions that would not come.
Then Serena reached toward the sheet music.
Daniel’s hand moved before he thought. “Don’t.”
She stopped.
“I wasn’t going to tear it.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You thought it.”
“I don’t know what you’ll do when you’re angry.”
The sentence struck harder than accusation.
Serena lowered her hand.
“That’s fair,” she said.
She walked away from the piano and joined her mother.
The guests ate because the food had been prepared and because human beings can adapt almost indecently fast when dinner is placed in front of them. Some left immediately. Others stayed from concern, curiosity, or the belief that wasting expensive salmon would improve nothing.
Aunt Louise sent a plate upstairs to Anna and instructed the server to include two rolls because grief, in her opinion, required carbohydrates. Peter carried champagne glasses back to the bar, though nobody had asked him. Claire spent twenty minutes persuading guests not to surround Daniel with advice.
At one table, Serena’s grandmother complained that the potatoes were cold.
“They postponed a wedding,” Evelyn Rourke said. “The potatoes are not the emergency.”
Her mother tasted them again. “Both things can be true.”
Serena heard and nearly laughed. The sound rose into her throat and vanished.
She sat through the meal in her wedding gown while people tried not to watch her. Camille brought a shawl. Serena declined it, then accepted five minutes later because the ballroom had become cold.
No one made a toast.
The cake remained uncut.
At seven, Serena went upstairs to change. The bridal suite had been cleaned around the disaster. Makeup brushes were packed. Half-eaten fruit had been removed. Someone had placed her overnight bag beside the sofa.
Her mother followed.
“Your father wants us to go home,” Evelyn said.
“I’m going to the apartment.”
“Daniel may be there.”
“He said we’re leaving separately.”
“That doesn’t mean you should be alone.”
Serena removed one earring. The clasp caught in her hair.
Evelyn stepped behind her and freed it.
In the mirror, mother and daughter looked less alike than strangers often claimed. Evelyn had darker hair, softer features, and an expression that made concern look like disapproval.
“Why did you grab her?” she asked.
Serena placed the earring on the counter.
“I wanted her to stop.”
“You could have asked.”
“I did.”
“Then you could have walked away.”
“I didn’t.”
Evelyn removed the second earring.
“When you were seven,” she said, “you pushed a girl off the swings because she wouldn’t give you a turn.”
Serena looked at her reflection. “That seems relevant.”
“You cried harder than she did.”
“I remember.”
“You said everyone would think you were bad.”
Serena pulled pins from her hair. Blonde waves loosened around her shoulders.
“You told me I wasn’t bad.”
“I told you that you had done a bad thing.”
“I heard the first part.”
“Most children do.”
Serena turned. “I’m not a child.”
“No.”
“You think Daniel should leave me.”
Evelyn folded the shoulder cape into tissue paper. “I think Daniel should decide whether he feels safe building a life with you.”
“Safe.”
“It isn’t only a word for broken bones.”
Serena sat on the sofa.
May you like
Her gown spread around her again, too much fabric for the small space.
“I didn’t know I could do that,” she said.
